


The Importance of Wingmen

by Feline_Warrior



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, F/F, Not Beta Read, bros, references to canon prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feline_Warrior/pseuds/Feline_Warrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a muuuch longer fic I'm writing in which Lexa grows up on the Ark (which alters everything down on the Earth and I'm kind of obsessed with it, please help).</p><p>Bellamy's plans to woo the daughter of the Guard Commander are not going at all as he would like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the description this is part of a much larger fic universe. This bit is just so much fluffier than the rest (which, in keeping with the feel of the show, gets pretty murder-y) that I feel like it stands better as a oneshot. 
> 
> And yes, I stole Lexa's last name from the actress who plays her. I don't think she'd mind--she has a spare :)

A high brown ponytail glided in and out of Bellamy’s view. She was far off down the hall and there were many people between them, but it didn’t matter; he knew exactly where she was going. He had been following Lexa Carey for weeks and on her lunch break she always went to the same place.

Five minutes ago she had left her chatting and boisterous classmates and headed off in the direction of the Factory Station. Bellamy followed at a more leisurely pace, still mulling over his plan and wondering if there was any hope in it at all.

At the Station entrance he ducked into a corner and leaned against a wall to wait. This went one of two ways: the first, which happened about half the time, was that she discovered there were no pending deliveries for the Med Bay and, defeated, wandered slowly back to her classroom, visibly sulking. The second was that she succeeded in obtaining a shipment, and delivered it to the Med Bay where she was able, finally, to stammer and stare at the pretty receptionist for several minutes. 

She emerged victorious this day and Bellamy cursed his luck; he’d been hoping for an opportunity to swoop in when he knew she would be free for a while. Instead, he resumed following her, still at a distance. 

Bellamy was tired of his mother sleeping with men who didn’t seem to like her. He was tired of knowing she was doing it for him and Octavia. He was nineteen now, his career wasn’t going anywhere, and he was running out of options. Maybe seducing the daughter of the Commander of the Guard hadn’t been his best idea, but he had to do something. 

Unfortunately his plan wasn’t working out at all as expected. The receptionist was probably his main problem, considering the obvious amount of emotional investment Lexa had in their paltry interactions, but it didn’t help that she seemed to make time for almost no other forms of socializing. 

She didn’t seem to mind that most of her classmates resented her for her perfect grades, her aggressive contributions to class discussions and her frankly over-the-top project submissions. Bellamy had seen her tutoring a few of them in the common spaces after hours, but although she was patient and clear, she was never laughing or smiling or making extra conversation. She took an elective Tai Chi class, read during meals, and shadowed a politician in the evenings. On alternating days she worked in a classroom for younger kids. Outside of these activities his view of her life was limited, as most of it occurred behind closed doors. 

He knew that she occasionally went to services when her father was preaching and it was here that he had first tried to make conversation with her. Hardly deigning to look at him she had said waspishly that it was “disrespectful to come to a house of worship in search of a pretty girl.” He tried suggesting that maybe it was destiny, but at the look she gave him in response he quickly turned and walked away.

His next attempt had been when he followed her to the mess hall one evening and saw her sit down to dinner, alone, and begin reading a paper copy of Sense and Sensibility. He had tried striking up a conversation about his work in Communications—exaggerating slightly as he was more like an assistant and most of what he did was digitizing paper books like the one she was reading. He rattled off a list of duties that included everything the department did as a whole, from writing articles for the daily bulletin to editing and publishing original submissions. 

She raised an eyebrow coolly. “Really? You are quite young for such responsibilities.’

“Well, it’s a small department…”

She leaned forward conspiratorily, “It’s a small department because there isn’t much to do.”

 _Ok then_. 

“How’s your book?” he asked.

“I’ve already read it.” She turned back to the item in question, effectively dismissing him.

Not to be defeated he tried “Ah, of course you have. You know your father is one of my favorite teachers.”

There was a long pause. She flipped a page and ‘hmmed’ vaguely in response. 

“Okay well it was great catching up with you,” he said testily. She rolled her eyes up to his and stared him down until he moved to another table.

It wasn’t going well, but he had to keep trying. Every time his mother came back tense, avoiding his and Octavia’s eyes, guilt pooled in his stomach and chest. He felt strain in his heart as he kept one eye on Octavia—sighing and fidgeting, trapped—and the other on the door. He had to do something. 

Today he was going to forgo being polite and friendly—finally—and try to jolt her out of her indifference by calling her out on being rude. He had seen enough movies with a clichéd “opposites attract” storyline to know there was likely a “what is your _deal_?” in his near future and he looked forward to it eagerly. Conflict would at least signal progress. 

Far down the corridor, Lexa turned a corner to the entrance of the Med Bay. He strolled after her. When he rounded the corner he came face to face with a pair of sharp green eyes.

“Why are you following me?”

He scoffed, “following you?”

“Don’t repeat what I say. Answer my question.”

“Look, kid, I don’t know what you’re talking a—"

“My mother is the Commander of the Guard. Do you really think I wouldn’t notice a bumbling idiot following me around for weeks? I don’t know if you’re stupid, or if you just think that I am, but it doesn’t matter; what matters is _why_ are you following me?”

Charm hadn’t worked in the past but it was still his first instinct. “Has it occurred to you that you’re a beautiful g—“

“I’m not interested,” she said flatly and started to turn away.

“Wait!” he said. She gave a long, frosty look toward the hand he hadn’t noticed himself putting on her arm. He removed it hastily. “I think we should hang out. Really. I think we have a lot in common. We’re both smart and serious, I’ve seen you reading a lot of the same books as I do…and I think we could both use a friend."

“I will have you know I am not in need of anymore friends--”

He rolled his eyes. “Bullshit.”

“—certainly not any whose idea of initiating friendship is to stalk me from afar and flirt with me poorly.”

This was a little too much to take coming from her. He put his hands on his hips. 

“Better than staring at somebody silently every day while they try to make conversation,” he said. 

Her jaw tensed but she didn’t have a comeback for that. He nodded through the open doors to the Med Bay where they could just make out Blondie and the friend who was hanging around with her more often than not. 

“He’s around a lot; are you sure she’s not taken?” 

Lexa looked away sullenly. 

“I don’t know,” she said with evident reluctance. 

“Okay, what _do_ you know?”

“Her name is Clarke—“

“Good start,”

“—she likes to draw—“

“Okay,”

“—her mother is a doctor—“

“Makes sense,”

“And her father is a systems engineer.”

Bellamy waited.

“That’s it?” he asked “that’s all you’ve got? You’ve been coming here for weeks.”

Lexa looked away from him quickly, pouting slightly. 

“It is weeks, right? It hasn’t been months? Oh God, tell me it’s not years…”

“It’s been a couple of months,” she admitted very quietly.

A wide smirk spread slowly over Bellamy's face. 

“Sounds like you need a wingman.” 

Before she could answer he grabbed the handle of her cart and pushed past her into the Med Bay. She followed looking panicked.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, but he had already locked eyes with Clarke and was grinning by way of a greeting. 

“Special delivery, hot off the presses,” he said, as Lexa hovered nervously by his elbow.

“Thanks,” said Clarke, reaching for a tablet. She looked at Lexa eagerly. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” said Lexa, and returned the curt nod that the boy next to Clarke gave her. 

There was a pause in which Bellamy realized Lexa was not going to introduce him.

“You know, I don’t think I met you last time I was here. I’m Bellamy Blake,” he said, and held out his hand. 

“Clarke Griffin,” she said, shaking it. 

“So I’ve heard,” he said, with a half glance toward Lexa. Lexa’s cheeks went ever so slightly pink. “And is this your boyfriend?”

She and the boy both sputtered and laughed nervously. 

“No, no—this is Wells, he’s my best friend. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend.” She was looking at Lexa now, “Or a girlfriend. Or any friend. I mean—uh—obviously I have friends. I’m not some wierd loner…” she laughed nervously and blushed furiously. Lexa did not laugh and looked quite pale.

“Are you Lexa’s boyfriend?” Wells asked Bellamy loudly. 

“Nope,” he said at the same moment that Lexa said “we’re just friends” so quickly that it sounded like one long word.

“Cool,” said Clarke, “Great!”

There was another long silence, less awkward than before. Bellamy could certainly understand now why Lexa was making such slow progress. It was actually endearing to see her struggle at something after weeks of watching her excel at seemingly everything. For the first time in weeks of following her he finally felt like he liked her, and he found himself wanting to help her out.

“Hey,” he said, “do you like the Lion King? It's a cute kids movie but they’re showing it tonight and we were going to—"

“We’re going too!” said Clarke excitedly, “I love that movie.”

"Oh--"

“Me too!” said Lexa.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite!”

“That’s so cool! Well maybe we could all…go together?” suggested Clarke.

This wasn’t exactly what Bellamy had had in mind but he found the situation slipping quickly out of his control. Lexa was already nodding. 

“Yes,” she said, “we will.”

“Well I guess we'll see you guys tonight then,” said Bellamy, taking the forgotten tablet gently out of Clarke’s hand and signing his name in an illegible scrawl. He waved goodbye and turned to go. 

At the last second he noticed Lexa was still rooted to the spot, staring adoringly at Clarke. He tossed his arm around her shoulders casually and steered her away firmly. 

“Bye!” she called faintly, and she, Clarke and Wells exchanged a wave. 

“So,” he said, once they were out of earshot, “What was that about not needing any new friends?” 

“Okay,” she said, nodding slowly, her eyes still bright and dancing, “I see what you mean. I…definitely owe you a favor, Bellamy Blake.”

_Yes_ , he thought, heart soaring. If nothing else, this was a step in the right direction.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“What…what _is_ the Lion King?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy walks into the lions' den--which is to say he meets Lexa's parents.

Bellamy hesitated for just a moment with his knuckles poised over the door, questioning his life choices. Walking into the quarters of the Commander of the Guard—let alone inviting himself in—felt like it was perhaps the worst idea he’d ever had, but he knew he was running out of time; any day now Lexa would get ahold of herself and ask Clarke on a real date in which Bellamy and Wells Jaha were not dragged along as disinterested props. At that point he was still worried he would be dropped entirely and forgotten about, with little to show for his many evenings spent watching Wells jealously watch Lexa watch Clarke watch a movie. If he could just—literally—get his foot in the door with Lexa, he might be able to set the groundwork for a more lasting and _useful_ friendship.

With the happy thought of soon not having to make small talk with Wells—perhaps ever again—Bellamy knocked loudly on the door. After a moment Lexa opened it.

“Bellamy,” she said, by way of a greeting.

“Hey, are you ready? We should get going.”

“The movie is not until eight,” she said.

“What?” he asked, scanning her unreadable face and praying she was buying this.

“I told you yesterday: they had a meeting of the representatives today so it was moved.”

He made a face of disbelief, then dawning recollection. “You did,” he said, nodding and running a hand through his short hair, “Yes you did. Well…I guess that makes me very, very early.”

She was giving him that calculating look that he didn’t like, and she nodded vaguely.

A beat passed in which she should have invited him in if she was going to.

“Well…I guess I’ll just come back,” he said, feeling stupid for having come, and was just turning to leave when he heard a familiar drawl from beyond the doorway.

"Is that Mr. Blake I hear on my doorstep, mumbling?"

Lexa rolled her eyes but stepped aside indicating at last that he should enter.

“Mumbling, sir? Never,” he said. “A great man once told me you should never trust a mumbler.”

“Mmm, he sounds very wise indeed.”

Lexa’s father sat reclined in a chair by the small table, one long leg crossed over the other and his willowy white fingers steepled in front of his face. The first English class he’d had with this man—a full year’s exploration of the “Complexity of Truth” had changed Bellamy’s life. Terribly intelligent and well-educated, Mr. Carey seemed bored—or at least unchallenged—by most productive activities. Instead he delighted in provoking reactions from people and observing the results. Although Bellamy liked him a great deal, even he was often not sure whether he was in on Mr. Carey’s jokes or he _was_ the joke. He suspected most people felt the same.

“Do sit down,” said Mr. Carey, and Lexa and Bellamy each took a seat, “Lexa and I were just debating the relative value of human life.”

Bellamy’s eyes darted between the two serene and shielded faces. Morbid and dramatic: of course this was the kind of thing their family did in the evenings.

“Um…relative to what?”

Mr. Carey spread his fingers wide with a flourish, “The crux of the matter indeed!”

Bellamy laughed, then said to Lexa as casually as possible “is your mom in on this ‘debate’? I thought you said she had the evening off.”

“Oh, I’m afraid we’ve had to do without Lexa’s mother tonight—it’s nothing to worry about, she’s just out murdering someone.”

There was a pause after Bellamy laughed and the other two did not.

“Oh,” he said, “you mean somebody’s getting floated.”

Mr. Carey nodded his head deeply.

“You see: the term ‘murder’ is misleading—as well as uncalled for in this situation,” said Lexa to her father.

“Is it?” he asked, looking at Bellamy.

“Uh,” he said, “What did they do?”

“She was a drunk and she stole liquor,” said Lexa, at the same moment her father said “she suffered from a mental illness.”

“Allow me to clarify,” said Mr. Carey. “The facts of the case are these: a woman has been reported several times over the years for misdemeanors: drunken—but not disorderly—public behavior, or noise complaints when she was shouting at her daughter. Each time whatever guard had been called in warned her sternly that her drinking would get her into trouble eventually—even if they could not arrest her that day—and a record of the incident was entered neatly into a file under her name. Today a man accused this woman of stealing a bottle of liquor. He has no witnesses besides himself, so it is now her word against his that the crime even happened.”

“Perhaps it is a sickness,” said Lexa, “But people get sick with a cold or with the flu; obviously it is in their personal interest then to do whatever is necessary to recover, but when they steal medicine from others they are breaking the law. It is then the duty of Law Enforcement to act accordingly. This is no different.”

Bellamy listened warily, thinking of Octavia burning up with fevers he could not make go away.

“Ah,” said her father, “but in her mental state are her actions not a compulsion like any other? Let us say you have a cold and I tell you not to sneeze—but you do sneeze—is it your fault?”

“It isn’t a question of fault,” countered Lexa, “it is a question of action. If you had told me not to sneeze because we both knew there would be consequences, then those consequences would naturally carry out. You having warned me might prove that the sneeze was involuntary and inevitable, but it would still have happened and the consequences would be carried out accordingly.”

“Are the warnings going to mean anything?” asked Bellamy, “In her case, I mean; will it make them more likely to convict her if she has a record?”

Mr. Carey nodded again. “It is highly probable.”

“What they will mean,” said Lexa, “is that they will constitute evidence of a pattern of disruptive behavior, which may make the council more likely to convict her now—before she does something even more serious.”

“But if the Guard is just enforcing the law, and the Council is just protecting their people _and_ the woman cannot control her impulses…wherein lies the blame?” mused her father.

“Perhaps there is none,” she said.

“Oh, my darling, wherever there is violence it breeds retaliation. The hearts of those who grieve must have a scapegoat. Blood must have blood. You know this.”

Before Lexa could reply they were interrupted by the entrance of her mother. Lara and Lexa Carey were as similar in appearance as in name. She was Lexa, only twenty-something years older. Her face was a little stiffer, its resting expression one of irritation rather than detached mournfulness like that of her daughter. Her toned and graceful body was a thing of comic-book-hero dreams. In was no wonder that everyone who met her was in love with her, terrified of her, or—more often than not—a toxic combination of the two.

“My dear, welcome home. We have a visitor.”

Commander Carey’s eyes flicked briefly and disinterestedly between her husband and Bellamy.

“Hello ma’am,” he said, standing and holding out his hand. She shook it briskly before moving to put away the items she was carrying.

“We were just discussing whom we are to blame when a member of the public is executed for breaking an unjust law,” said her husband. Commander Carey stilled midway through her task, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling as if begging a higher power for patience.

“Still?” she asked testily, “You were discussing that when I left.”

“We ran out of scenes from _Hamlet_ and came back to it. I believe Mr. Blake was due to weigh in.”

Bellamy’s heart leapt into his throat as all three Careys turned to stare at him.

“Uh…” he said, thinking as fast as he could, “Well…I guess…maybe the blame lies with all of us.”

Mr. Carey raised his eyebrows slightly. “Interesting. Elaborate on that.”

“We live in a democracy, don’t we? If the laws really are unjust—and I’m not convinced they are—” he made his best ass-kissing face at Commander Carey, “the fault lies with the people who created them and voted for them. In a democracy that’s everyone who has the right to vote.”

“Well-reasoned,” said Mr. Carey with a bob of his head, staring meditatively into the middle-distance.

“You were gone a long time, mom, was everything okay?”

Commander Carey took off her uniform jacket slowly.

“Yes and no,” she said, then addressed her husband, “If it helps you sleep at night, she may live to endanger others for another day. I was able to submit evidence of an attempt to aid Law Enforcement that will also go in her record too.”

“That means she squealed,” said Mr. Carey to Bellamy in a stage whisper, then at a regular volume to his wife “It must have been some secret.”

Commander Carey’s lip curled. She scrutinized Bellamy, then shrugged. “I suppose it will be in the bulletin tomorrow morning anyway.” She paused for dramatic effect and waited until her husband’s eyes met her own before concluding, “Extras.”

“Ahh,” he said.

Bellamy tensed as adrenaline shot through his system. “You mean a second child?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

“ _Third_.” She said.

Lexa’s mouth fell slightly open.

“A four year old, a two year old, and a six month old baby.”

“ _How?_ ” asked Lexa

Her mother shrugged. “The same way these people always do: sex work, bribes, stealing what they can’t afford.”

Bellamy felt like he could not breathe. He felt sick. He was in too deep. He should not have come here.

“What’s going to happen to the kids?” he asked, when he felt confident his voice would not shake, “Do they send infants to the Box?” he thought of Octavia in a cell, alone. He thought of her as a baby, crying.

“That’s up to the Council,” she said, “Not to me.” She rested her hands on the back of Lexa’s chair and peered down at her daughter. “What would you do, Lexa? What _will_ you do?” She looked up at Bellamy. “Lexa will be Chancellor one day.”

“Of course she will,” he said faintly.

Lexa considered the question for a long moment.

“The eldest child is not guilty of any crime, and a suitable adoptive home should be found for it immediately. The other two children are very young and will require full-time care, not isolation. They have done nothing wrong and do not deserve to be punished—” Bellamy let out a breath “—which is why we should float them both now.”

“What?” he asked, incredulous. Six spotlights in shades of grey and green turned on him again but he hardly noticed. “You said they _don’t_ deserve to be punished and now you want to kill them.”

“Yes,” she said, with infuriating calm, “It is the only humane choice. Where is the mercy in raising them as prisoners only to execute them when they are eighteen with fully formed consciousness? Besides, they reason they are illegal is because we do not have the resources to support them—prolonging their lives is just wasteful.”

“Well who says we’re going to execute them? The law says they get a trial—you don’t get to just decide right now what the verdict will be.”

“True…” Mr. Carey interjected, “But, unless I am mistaken, no second child has ever won their appeal.”

He looked to the Commander, who nodded curtly. “They can’t invent a right to exist where there is none, so there isn’t much point to a trial. It’s really a loophole that makes us keep them alive until adulthood: we don’t execute anyone under 18. Period.”

Bellamy felt like all three of them had peeled away their human masks to reveal alien faces with bulging eyes and sharp pincers—heartless and grotesque.

“Why not just find adoptive parents for all three of them?” he asked, and he thought of Octavia’s strong limbs, her curious questions, her laugh, “They could still grow up to be useful members of society, if that’s what we’re worried about here. They could _earn_ their right to exist—if you think they need to.”

“And what message would that send?” asked Lexa, “If this woman manages to pass her genes on to three people while every other citizen must rely on one heir, others will follow in her footsteps, willing to die for their legacy. The genepool will soon be flooded with the offspring of the selfish, reared by the few who can still control ourselves. We will never reach Earth. Everything we have done up here to survive will have been for nothing, and the last of humanity will die in a tin can orbiting our former home. They have to die, as an example to others. One which will hopefully discourage such foolish behavior.”

“Mmm,” said her father when Bellamy seemed to have no response to this—none he could share anyway—“strong finish. Persuasive.”

If Lexa’s mother was pleased with the answer then she certainly had Lexa’s smile, which was to say that she had none at all. He thought he _might_ have seen approval ghost over her face as she turned to search the cabinet for something to eat, but it could just as easily have been a trick of the light. His head and his heart felt equally heavy, throbbing with urgent, terrible questions. Was it truly selfish to have Octavia? To hide her? To love her? Was it wrong?

“Do you believe in a higher power, Mr. Blake?” Mr. Carey jolted him out of his reverie. His cool grey eyes fixed on Bellamy.

“Stephen…” said the Commander warningly, but he went on, paying her annoyed expression no mind.

“I used to believe in a higher power in the sense of a force which balanced the universe without any specific agenda or narrative. In that case, right and wrong were surely nothing but words we had invented to drive each other mad. Of course, that changed the night Lexa was born. Has she told the story of her middle name?”

“What’s your middle—”

“It doesn’t matter—dad, don’t start.”

“I know I have seen you at a service recently…though if I recall it seemed mostly in the interest of flirting clumsily with my daughter…”

Commander Carey’s head snapped around in Bellamy’s direction, eyes suddenly narrowed. He had more of her attention now than he had for the entire visit, but none of it was good.

“Ah,” she said, “so are you the same ‘seeing a movie with friends’ that has kept Lexa out five nights in the past three weeks?”

“Mom, I will not have this discussion again. I have to work on my image. No one is going to elect me if I look uptight and unsociable. I _need_ to go out.”

“An argument you never made before three weeks ago…”

“Really my dear, I think our young Mr. Blake is hardly Lexa’s _type_ ,” said her husband reasonably.

“She’s 17,” she snapped at her husband, “Trust no one.”

To Bellamy she said “Lexa is not in the market for a romantic partner. Between her work and her studies she does not have the time to waste. I suggest you remember that.”

“Uh—understood. Ma’am.”

“Good. Tell all your friends.”

“We should leave,” said Lexa abruptly.

Mr. Carey glanced at his watch. “You will still be early for your movie, my darling.”

“I want to go for a walk first,” she said.

Commander Carey nodded, reluctantly dismissing them.

“Low-impact exercise can add years to your life,” mused Mr. Carey, “On your walk you might ponder what you will do with that time.” 

His wife gave up glaring at Bellamy long enough to roll her eyes in the direction of the ceiling again and sigh loudly. Mr. Carey winked at Bellamy behind steepled fingers.

Once safely in the relative freedom of the halls, Bellamy and Lexa walked for a long time without speaking. He wasn’t sure where they were going, or what she was thinking about, but his mind was swimming with everything he had just observed. He stole a sidelong glance at Lexa. Around Clarke she was a gawking, besotted mess, yet with her parents she was composed and logical. Every day she taught children who adored and idolized her, yet five minutes ago she had suggested the execution of an infant without batting an eye. Her father brimmed with mischief and mocking, her mother was sharp and surly, yet there was Lexa, as calm as still water. She looked at him and he looked away. Neither said anything.

Eventually they found themselves on the Observation Deck, and Bellamy came to a stop by the window. Lexa stood beside him, and together they looked down over Earth.

After a long moment she said “I will not apologize for my parents.”

He stared at her in surprise. “Wasn’t gonna ask you to.”

She scanned his face briefly, then nodded and looked back at the planet.

“They’re interesting. I can see where you get your…particular kind of weirdness,” he said, taking a stab at teasing her.

She rolled her eyes at him but looked mildly amused. They stood looking at the planet for another moment.

“Would you really float that baby?” he asked softly. Mournful green eyes met deep brown ones.

“What else would you have me do?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Something…illogical…just because it’s right. No other reason.”

She smiled softly. They both knew that merited no response.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said.

“Alright…how about how your mom is gonna eat Clarke alive.”

Lexa groaned and turned to keep walking in the direction of the Griffin’s quarters to pick up the girl in question.

“Anything but that. I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Is she gonna arrest me? I mean, should I be worried?”

“Probably not.”

“ _Probably_ —”

“I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Lexa—”

“You’ll be fine. They loved you.”

“I—they—how could you tell? Is that better than it normally goes, introducing them to friends?”

Lexa said nothing, and Bellamy suspected that she had never introduced her parents to a friend before. That might explain why her mother was so suspicious of him.

“Well,” he said, “You should introduce them to Wells, too, just to seal the deal. Make sure I’m solidly in first place.” When she glanced his way he winked at her.

She wasn't perfect, but neither was he. The Ark, he thought, made people complicated. The Ark made people hard; it made them liars and murderers. It made them selfish. It made them sneaky.

It also made them into huge nerds who tried a little too hard at everything they did, because even in their quiet moments they felt the fate of humanity resting on their shoulders. He didn't necessarily feel good, but it was comforting to know that there was someone even younger who felt something like he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this section! It's less silly than the one before it and the one that's coming, but I'm in love with Lexa's weird, kinda mean parents so...this happened.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure if anyone will make it all the way to the end here or if this is even a good place to ask, but I have a few questions about the logistics of the Ark if anyone would like to weigh in. For example: what exactly is the visitation policy for the prison? In the pilot Octavia and Bellamy haven't seen each other in a year, but then when Raven can't see her boyfriend one day it's so surprising to her that she immediately becomes suspicious...I could just have missed something, but I'm a bit confused.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading!! Comments welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa and Bellamy love Top Gun, because they totally would.

Bellamy had seen more movies over the past five weeks than he had in his entire life before he met Lexa, Clarke and Wells. Movies were shown in the common area two evenings a week, but he didn't usually go. The four of them hadn’t missed a single showing since the Lion King.

The best, in both his and Lexa’s opinion, had definitely been Top Gun. When Clarke asked playfully which one of them was Maverick and which was Goose, he’d expected Lexa would argue with him about who got to be Maverick. Instead she had scoffed. “I’m obviously Ice Man. He’s just as good a flyer as Maverick and _he_ knows how to follow the rules,” she’d said, and Clarke had practically swooned. What nerds.

For Bellamy, the appealing hilarity of watching Clarke and Lexa inch towards each other at a glacial pace was fading quickly. He was beginning to feel distinctly like a chaperone for a group of large, hormonal children.

Octavia, on the other hand, liked him going out with them, because it gave him new stories to tell her when he got home. He had been retelling the Lord of the Rings: the Two Towers over several nights, slowed down by the epic scale of the story and Octavia’s many, many questions. Presently he was trying to explain Pippin’s line “The closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm”.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “if you’re close to danger you’re more likely to get hurt.”

“Not necessarily,” he said

“Okay, when?” she demanded.

“Say you have something precious to you that you don’t want to lose.”

“Like a magic ring that turns you invisible?”

“Something like that,” he said, looking at her, “anywhere you put it is risky because someone who’s looking might find it and someone who isn’t could also find it just by accident. The safest place for the ring is in your own pocket, because even if it’s easier for people to find it’s also harder for them to get. You’ll know if they’re trying to take it and you can fight them off.” He waited as she considered this.

“Or like if you’re close enough to the people who would arrest you, that they forget to be suspicious of you?” she asked finally, and Bellamy heard his mother, sewing quietly in the corner, let out a tense sigh. “Like if you’re hanging around with the daughter of the Guard Commander and the son of the Chancellor?”

“Yeah,” he said, “That’s another good example. I guess it’s about taking a risk for a big reward.”

She considered this carefully for another minute.

“Are they nice?” she asked finally, “the people you go out with?”

Bellamy thought about it. Would he call Lexa nice? It wasn’t the first word that came to mind…

Part of the reason he was still going along with these ridiculous double-friend-dates was because bonding with her turned out to be a long and involved process. He had been in her home only once and quite frankly was too intimidated by her parents to return any time soon. At the beginning of September when the new lesson year began he had joined the tai chi class--which she apparently took every year. Now they had somewhere to hang out and talk where she wasn’t an awkward besotted mess, which turned out to be a major improvement. When she was less suspicious of his motives—and not actively paralyzed by the sight of a pretty girl—it turned out she was quite graceful, well-read, and disconcertingly shrewd. She had a dark sense of humor and was extremely competitive. Could it be considered niceness that she had never once laughed at him in class--even though, frankly, he sucked at tai chi?

“Bell.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t think that was a hard question.”

He laughed. “Yeah--they’re all nice. Lexa’s…a lot like me, I think.”

“Oh,” she said, looking like this pleased her. She glanced at the clock and sat up. “You have to go!”

“Not yet,” he said.

“Bell if you’re late we’ll never know how it ends!”

He laughed. “First of all, I’ve read the books and you could too if you really wanted. Secondly, I’m not going to be late because—drum roll please—“ Octavia drummed her hands on her knees, “—tonight Lexa is picking Clarke up all by herself.”

Octavia grinned, “Wait, what? What does she normally do?”

“Well,” said Bellamy, slightly embarrassed to admit what his life had come to recently, “normally I go to Lexa’s quarters and pick her up so that we can walk to the Griffins’ and pick Clarke up together and then the three of us go to get Wells, and then we all go to the movie. Which is why I always have to leave 40 minutes early.”  


“That’s…really stupid,” she said.

“I know.”

“Why don’t you all just meet there?”

“No idea. Clarke suggested it and now it’s just what we do.”

“Until today,” she said, waggling her eyebrows playfully.

“Until today,” he agreed. They were quiet for a minute, listening to the sound of their mother pulling thread through fabric.

“Why is she so scared to be around Clarke if she likes her?” asked Octavia. Bellamy shrugged.

“It happens sometimes when you like someone the way Lexa likes Clarke. You look at them and you forget how your feet work or what a normal thing to say is…I think it’s especially hard for Lexa because she doesn’t get that way anywhere else. She’s not used to it.”

“Oh,” said Octavia softly. She wasn’t usually this thoughtful unless she was sad about something, and Bellamy looked at her, feeling the familiar tug of a nameless concern in the back of his mind. “Do you think—” she started, but Bellamy never heard the end of her sentence. All three of them jumped to attention at the sound of a knock on their door.

“Quickly!” hissed Aurora, pulling the covering up from Octavia’s hiding place. The girl jumped in, white as a sheet. Bellamy stood ready by the door. Just as Aurora slid the metal into place there was another knock and he heard, faintly through the door, someone call his name.

_You have got to be kidding me._

He looked at his mother and held one finger in front of his lips, then shut off the light and opened the door a crack.

“Lexa…hold on,” he said in a hushed voice and slid out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“Were you asleep?” she asked, frowning, “It’s six o’clock, Bellamy.”

He sighed, “my mom was taking a nap when I got home so I was just practicing meditating.”

She scanned his face. “You look upset; I don’t think you’re doing it right.”

“Noted,” he said dryly, “Now why are you here?”

She took a breath.

“I’ve changed my mind. I think we should go together."

“Buddy, we talked about this…”

“I don't want to move too fast--”

“I don't think you could move any slower. If you don't get your act together and ask her to the Unity Day Dance someone else is going to and you’re going to be sorry. That’s a real threat. It’s in two weeks; you need to pick up the pace.”

This only made Lexa look more anguished.

“Do you think she’s still mad about our argument?”

“I think she’s nice enough to pretend none of that ever happened, and I think you should take that deal.”

“Of course you would say that—I knew you would take her side!”

“Of course I’m taking her side! How is _Javert_ your favorite character from Les Mis?”

She opened her mouth, clearly ready to continue arguing her point. Bellamy hastily held up his hands.

"No, don't start, we don't have time for this.” Bellamy could not afford to get into this argument with her again because he knew he might actually strangle her. “ Just try not to bring up the French Revolution at all. Focus on the dance. God, you have _no_ game.”

She regarded him coolly.

“I was doing just fine with Clarke before you came along.”

“Staring at someone is not a legitimate form of courtship.”

Lexa sighed and then straightened up.

“Alright,” she said, looking solemn and determined, like a general sending her troops to battle, “You’re right.”

She made no move to leave and stood there looking at him imperiously with her hands behind her back until Bellamy said “Do you want me to walk with—”

“Yes I think that would be best.”

They walked briskly, and stopped at the end of the hall leading to the Griffin's quarters. It was the end of a shift and the narrow space was busy.

“Okay,” he said, “this is as far as I go. But I’ll be right here in case of…spontaneous combustion, I guess.” He really had no idea what she expected him to do.

Lexa nodded stiffly.

“What if her parents answer the door?”

“You will talk to them. Like a normal person.”

She nodded again.

“What if—“

“Hand to God: if you don’t go right now _I’m_ going to ask her.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but stalked swiftly down the hall with her head held high. She knocked, sparing him the smallest of triumphant glares over her shoulder. She had hardly finished knocking, however, before the door swung open and Clarke appeared. It was clear she had been waiting eagerly on the other side.

The traffic in the hall meant that Bellamy couldn’t hear exactly what came next, but he could see the two girls intermittently between passersby. He saw Lexa’s calm face and rigid posture. He saw Clarke’s face light up, and watched her rise just slightly on the balls of her feet to kiss Lexa’s cheek.

Lexa immediately turned so red that Bellamy had to stifle a laugh. _Way to go, Ice Man,_ he thought, _way to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, feedback is welcome :)


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